


Unmasked

by anita58straycat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Costumes, HP: EWE, Halloween, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Post-War, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 11:35:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12580980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anita58straycat/pseuds/anita58straycat
Summary: A Masquerade Ball where people, and feelings, get unmasked.





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> This should be part of a longer fic I'm planning, but for now, take this :)  
> Unbeta'd.

* * *

Harry stares at his reflection in the mirror and pats himself on the back for a job well done. His costume is pretty amazing, if he says so himself. The invitation had required that every Ministry employee dress up for the Annual Halloween Party with a costume and a mask: to maintain a certain level of anonymity and encourage people to mingle without prejudices, still pretty strong even after almost three years had passed since the War's ending, from both parts involved.

Never a great fan of this sort of Ministry's parties, Harry, who had never celebrated Halloween as a child, had nonetheless thought it a good idea, albeit begrudgingly. He chose to dress up as Van Helsing, leather coat, a hat that covers his lightning scar, and hair he's spent the better part of an afternoon lengthening. There's only one thing that doesn't sit well with him, too many unpleasant memories linked to the place.

This year's Halloween Ministry Party is hosted by none other than Lucius Malfoy, risen from the ashes of the war like a very annoying phoenix.

Harry should have seen this coming: even if Malfoy Senior had been exposed during the Second War, he was still influential amongst certain circles and had taken a step back from Death Eaters' activity in the last days of the conflict. This had granted him a more conciliatory attitude from the Wizengamot, whose members thought it best to show mercy in particular circumstances, such as the involvement of the Malfoy patriarch in the war. They thought it prudent, if not advantageous, to pardon some and condemn only the utterly unredeemable.

There had been, for obvious reasons, an uproar in the Wizarding community upon the news that Lucius Malfoy would not, after all, be sent to Azkaban, but things had settled down pretty quickly, what with the testimony Harry had given in defence of his wife and son, that managed to sway the public opinion in their favour, and the fact that Lucius would be confined to house-arrests for life. Without a wand.

Some would call it poetic justice.  

Only two years after the end of the War, Lucius was back on the political and social scene, mostly thanks to the copious amount of money he had devolved to charities and organizations that helped the victims of the conflict and their families. Hogwarts itself had been mostly rebuilt thanks to the gold found in the Malfoys' vault in Gringotts.

Harry is startled from his reverie by the sound of a Firecall. He casts one last glance at the mirror and strides to the living room to answer it, checking the clock on the mantle in the meantime. 8.25: he's already 10 minutes late. This is probably Hermione calling to know where the hell he is.

Unsurprisingly, the bushy head of his best friend appears in the flames. "Harry, we're going to be late! Are you ready?"

"Yes, yes. Don't worry." He replies, a little sheepishly. "I'm not coming over by Floo, though. I'd only ruin my dress. I'll apparate and then we'll go together." Hermione smirks a little, but doesn't say anything. She nods, satisfied, and ends the call. So what if Harry took a lot longer than usual to get dressed? It's not a crime to want to impress people for a change. She doesn't need to look so smug, just because she thinks she knows Harry wants to impress one person in particular.

Straightening his clothes one last time, Harry apparates on the doorstep of Hermione and Ron's house, a nice little cottage just outside Exeter the two bought together the previous spring.

Ron steps out of the door, Hermione in tow. They make a pretty awesome couple, Harry has to admit, and laughs fondly at his best friends. They're dressed like Han Solo and Princess Leia - not in the slave bikini costume. Hermione was very clear about this fact, when she accepted to give in to her boyfriend's latest Muggle obsession.

"Mate, your costume's wicked!" Ron exclaims as soon as he sees him on the sidewalk. "I see you managed to grow your hair."

"Your sister taught me a charm. It looks pretty good, don't you think?" Harry asks, taking away the hat for a moment and carding a hand through the long strands. "You're not so bad yourself," he adds, making an appreciative face at his mate.

"Stop hitting on me, you ponce," Ron replies, laughing and giving Harry a one-armed hug.

Harry had been worried about disclosing to his best friend that one of the reasons for his break up with Ginny was that he was actually more attracted to her brothers than her. But Ron, and of course Hermione, had taken the news surprisingly well, showing him complete support and understanding. Ginny, for her part, after agreeing that they were better off as friends, had just shaken her head fondly and tried to set him up with Charlie. Harry honestly doesn't know what he did right in a past life to deserve such people in his life.

A pointed cough makes Harry and Ron turn to face a rather exasperated Hermione. "If you're quite finished flirting with each other..."

Ron immediately disentangles from Harry and rushes to her girlfriend, picking her up in his arms and making her twirl. "You know I only have eyes for you, Princess." She does look like a fierce princess, Harry has to admit. The white of her dress is stark against her ebony skin, her frizzy hair done up in buns at the side of her head, and a menacing looking blaster strapped to her side.

"Put me down, Ronald," she says, with a put-upon sigh, but Harry can see her blushing and smiling even in the low light of the sunset.

"Ready?" Harry asks.

"Let's go meet your future in-laws," Ron proclaims, giving him a cheeky grin, and before Harry can protest Hermione takes his hand and the three of them Side-along to the front gates of Malfoy Manor.  

\---

Harry stumbles a bit when he lands on the Manor's grounds, more for the shock of Ron's statement, than the surprise apparition. "How did you... I mean, I don't! I--- What are you talking about?" He sputters, wide eyes trained on this best friend like a deer caught in headlights. That Hermione had her suspicions doesn't surprise him, but Ron, well, Harry didn't think he'd caught on so fast on this admittedly very embarrassing crush.

"Oh mate," Ron says, putting his arm across Harry's shoulders once again. "I've known since sixth year."

"WHAT?!" Both Harry and Hermione shriek.

Ron just laughs uproariously and starts to make his way through the gardens, muttering under his breath: "emotional range of a teaspoon, my arse."

Harry and Hermione look at each other, astonished, and then run to catch up with him.

They're escorted to the Ballroom by valets (not house elves, Hermione notices with a nod of approval), and soon the sound of the orchestra playing for the dancers and the chatters of hundreds of Ministry employees engulfs them. Hermione is still looking at Ron, who's wearing a rather self-satisfied smirk, as if he's never seen him before, and Harry... Harry would like an explanation, but he's a man with a mission tonight and this'll have to wait.

With his head still in a bit of a turmoil, Harry grabs a chalice of Champagne from a moving tray and starts scanning the room, his Seeker's senses on alert for a golden head.

Ok, so maybe Ron is right... he has been obsessed with the git for the longest time, but he'd never really thought of him like that until after the War. He'd been too much of a bully during their school years for Harry to consider him nice. But after the trials they had time to talk, really talk, and smooth out their differences. During their Eight Year at Hogwarts they had transformed, to the utter disbelief of many of their schoolmates and professors, in actual friends.

Harry had discovered that Draco Malfoy was not so bad, after all. The fact that on his first day back he had sincerely apologised to both Hermione and Ron for being a complete ass to them had certainly helped. But the thing that Harry liked the most about his relationship with Malfoy is that it was absolutely honest. They'd always known how to see right through the other's bullshit and posturing and that helped a lot, especially in the first months after the end of the War, when people were still walking on eggshells around Harry, fact that was driving him up the wall. He wanted things to go back to normal, he wanted to feel normal, and not be regarded for once as the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Malfoy had never thought he was anything special, and even though the sentiment was now, thankfully, devoid of any trace of contempt, it was still nice knowing that at least one person saw him as just an ordinary guy. To whom extraordinary things had happened, granted, but at the end of the day, just an 18 year old boy who was still searching for a place to fit in.

So, yeah, during his Eight Year Harry had started to think that Draco was nice. All through those months, be it because he had matured, or simply because without the thought of impending Doom hanging over his head he had more time to reflect on mundane things, he had also started to question his tepid interest in girls. There was no way around it. He found blokes attractive, and as Fate would have it, Malfoy was a very, very attractive bloke. Harry was doomed.

He'd tried, and failed, to forget about it, but every time he sees Malfoy he feels like a 12 year old at his first crush. Being a Gryffindor and all, Harry had decided to take the Erumpent by the horn.

Tonight he'll ask Draco to dance. He'll make his intentions known. He'll probably go cry in a bathroom when Draco will inevitably reject him. Then, he'll go on with his life, broken hearted, sure, but at least then he'll know. Poets always go on and on about being poor unloved sods, but seem to believe it passes with time. To Harry it sounds like a load of bollocks, but he's made up his mind now, and won't back down.  

He has just spotted Lucius and Narcissa, beautiful in matching white outfits, trimmed with gold, when another blond head appears in his line of vision. Clenching his hands in fists and squaring his shoulders, he marches towards Draco, who's nursing a glass of white wine and looking bored.

When Harry comes nearer, making his way through a throng of people (and isn't he glad he's covered his scar) the sight of Malfoy's outfit leaves him nearly breathless. His legs are covered in a pair of green tights that leave very little to the imagination. Draco's never been one to wear baggy clothes, unlike Harry. His robes had always been tailored and hugged his body to perfection, but this... this is pornographic.

Taking his eyes away from his backside, Harry stops again at his torso. Malfoy is clad in a mail made of golden scales that show his lean, yet muscled chest and bathe him in a warm yellow light.

Harry gulps, trying to find the words to address him, when Draco senses his presence and turns towards him, an elegant eyebrow arching in surprise and mild curiosity.

"Potter, what in Merlin's name have you done to your hair?" he asks.

"How--- how did you know it was me?" Harry says, taken aback.

Malfoy breaks eye contact, lips twiching, "your eyes," he replies, before taking a sip of Champagne.

"Oh." Harry says, intelligently, and: "you're one to talk, Aquaman. Really? You couldn't choose someone a little more..." He trails off at the murderous look in Draco's eyes.

"A little more what, Potter? I'll have you know Aquaman is very powerful, and you'd do better to remember it." He says, haughty, pointy nose stuck up in the air. But then he chances a glance at Harry from the corner of his eye, and bursts out laughing. Harry tentatively joins in.

"Come on, Potter!" He says with a mischievous grin that usually doesn't bode well for Harry, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. "I want to dance."

Harry finds himself dragged to the middle of the Ballroom. He should be happy. The first part of his plan is in motion and he didn't even have to do anything, but Draco is suddenly so close to him, it's making him dizzy.

Malfoy has a few inches on him, not a lot normally, but at this distance Harry has to look up a little in order to look into his eyes, eyes that are boring into him with an intensity Harry wasn't prepared for. He tries to take a step back, overwhelmed, but Draco tightens his grip on him and keeps him flush against himself.

He smirks a little, the git. "You're not so bad, Potter. Been practicing a lot since the Yule Ball?"

This is it, Harry thinks. Time to be a Gryffindor. "Actually, I have. I wanted to dance tonight, without stepping on my partner's feet."

"Oooh, got a bird to impress, Potter?" Draco asks, but the smirk isn't quite there, Harry notices and hopes.

"No, not a bird." He says, and this time, it's him the one tightening his grip, arm on the small of Draco's back.

"Harry..." Draco whispers, soft against Harry's lips, and when had their faces got so close?

They jerk apart abruptly, startled, when Lucius's voice invites the guests to pay attention to the Minister's speech. Before Harry can kick himself for wasting this opportunity and cursing Kingsley for his terrible timing, Malfoy takes his hand again and speaks softly in his ear: "Wanna get out of here?"

Harry doesn't need to be asked twice. They make their way out of the Ballroom and Draco drags him through darkened corridors to the second floor of the Manor. They're both giggling like school boys who've decided for the first time to sneak out of their dormitories after curfew. Harry is giddy with the promise he sees in Draco's eyes.

Draco leads them to a balcony overlooking the gardens, the night is chill, but pleasantly so, and from the ballroom they can still hear music. Shacklebolt must have cut his speech short, the good lad.

"Will you do me the honour of this dance?" Harry asks, and can hear his voice crack.

Draco takes pity on him, an indulgent smile on his face. He comes closer, takes Harry's hat and tosses it aside. "Let me see your face," he says, before Harry can protest, and takes both their masks off. He leaves his fingers on Harry's cheeks, strokes a thumb over his lower lip.

They're still swaying gently to the music from downstairs, when Harry finds his courage and says: "So, the thing is... in case you haven't noticed, I just want to say, that, well... I fancy you, Draco." There. He's said it. Not very well, tell the truth, but he's never been good at this sort of thing. Defeating evil wizards? No problem. Talking to people he likes? A disaster.

Draco snorts, rather inelegantly, but doesn't seem to care. "How romantic, Potter. And yes, I did notice. You're not exactly subtle."

Harry gapes. "Why didn't you say anything, then?" He asks, indignant.

"Stereotypes exist for a reason. I was hoping you brave Gryffindor would swoop me off my feet with a daring declaration of undying love, maybe on the back of a dragon. Something along those lines."

Harry looks at him then, sees the faint blush painting his cheeks, feels the slight twitch of his hand in his. Maybe Harry's not the only one who's nervous. Maybe he's not the only one with something to lose. Maybe his heart doesn't get broken tonight after all.

"You're completely mental. You know that, right?"

"You love me anyway." Draco says, but the look on his face is so full of hope, Harry just wants to keep him in his arms forever and never let go. How far they've come.

"I do," he whispers, quietly.

He hears Draco taking a sharp intake of breath, dares to slide his arms over his shoulders, card his hands through his hair, so soft, and brings their forehead together.

He can hear Draco's heart beating fast, in time with his and smiles. He can't wait anymore, he's longed for this for too long already.

"Scared, Malfoy?"

This seems to do the trick. Draco looks at him them, pupils blown wide in the darkness, his grey eyes stormy.

They see each other. They accept each other. They love each other.

"You wish," he says.

And brings their mouths together in a kiss.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Drarry fic, btw. Kinda excited :D


End file.
